Lighters in The Dark

I’Lighterm no smoker.  The idea of purposefully inhaling toxic fumes seems about as appealing as dropping my drawers at the county lock up. Still there’s something magical about the idea of using an actual lighter to demonstrate enthusiasm for a slow jam at a rock concert.

This is a theoretical assertion of course. I’m not a joiner so few artists aside from Billy Joel can tempt me to navigate my way to an arena full of drunken fucktards. Still, if I went, I’d likely pack a BIC for the occasion.  I’m not sure why, but cell phones seem too sterile ­– like the whole affair is sponsored in part by the Gap.  Plus everyone uses them now and groupthink just makes me want to punch someone in the neck.

If you ask me there has to be some grit to live music. Maybe the smell of butane and the slight risk of a thumb searing is a far cry from the pain it took the artist to make the grade, but I think we owe them that much.  Art is pain.  Trust me.